


Stoli on the Rocks

by simplecoffee



Category: Random Hearts (1999)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: Really? You made him do that? No wonder he's so sick.
Relationships: Kay Spencer Chandler/William "Dutch" van den Broeck
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Throwdown 2020





	Stoli on the Rocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jobey_wan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jobey_wan/gifts).



> HAPPY NEW YEAR, JOBEY! 💛 ~~Thank you for your infinite patience.~~ HERE IS THING I HOPE YOU LIKE IT
> 
> Challenge prompt dialogue [here](https://academicgangster.tumblr.com/post/623890167524147200).

Sometimes, Kay checks in on the state of Australian football. She remembers teams by their colours on the field, knows commentators by voice if not by name. Sometimes, it feels like looking in on an old friend - familiar highs and lows and background tones, familiar voices lulling her to sleep. Other times, it just feels rough. Rough like the middle of winter, like knowing Jessica's at school and there's no one to call who'd understand, and nothing to do for the week but write her column for the local paper; nothing to do for the moment, if she chooses to get up, but make a cup of tea and try not to think.

She doesn't get up. She knows how getting up ends, on lonely nights like this. She keeps her eyes stubbornly closed, concentrates on the softness of the pillows under her head, the weight of the blankets over her shoulders. Breathes in, deep, then out again.

Sometimes, when familiar voices fade to the background and lull her to sleep, they take on far more haunting tones as she slips closer to the edge. Cullen, during their honeymoon, during her first campaign, saying of course he believed in her, of course she meant the world. Jessica, babbling and indistinct when younger, quiet and emphatic now. Someone else, underneath it all, gruff and gentle and aching like she left him at the airport in DC. 

She hears him in her head, when she lets herself. It usually happens on nights like this, when her bed feels empty and she piles herself onto the couch instead, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans to keep them warm, to keep them heavy, keep them still. Sometimes she even lets herself hear the words - when there are words. _You wanna go for a movie?_ \- _I get paid to notice stuff._ \- _I care; they know anyway._ \- _I was thinking about your mouth._

In daylight, she tells herself it's childish to care. Childish to think this vivid remembrance of someone she simply grieved with could mean something, mean more than she told the press. Perhaps she's too much of a politician, learned a little too much from watching her dad; learned to let the careful neutrality of her voice become careful neutrality in everything she does. Nothing she wants to say to Dutch sounds like she's used to sounding at all - there's a shake to her voice, a catch to her breath, even when the words are only in her head. Even to an empty room, she can't make herself say them out loud.

Dutch sounds like himself, even on cold January nights like this, in almost-dreams, when something in her subconscious calls on him to keep her warm. Even when he's saying things he's never said before. Tonight, as she finally, finally falls asleep, it's _Kay - I like you very much._

She believes he'd say it. In darkness, she can admit she wishes he would.

When she wakes, blankets half on the floor, her thighs cramped from staying curled on the couch all night, the answering machine in the corner is flashing a new message. At first, her chest clenches, jolting her up and across the room like a shot of adrenaline right to the heart, thinking it's Jessica or her school, that something's terribly wrong. Instead, she hears silence. 

Silence, as she catches her breath, starts to think it was a false alarm. Silence first, then the realization that perhaps - perhaps, for just this one night out of many, she hasn't been dreaming.

"Kay." His voice is rough, warm, like he's there in the room with her. His breathing pointed, measured, like she's only ever heard it a few times before. There's a pause, distant sounds of bustling behind him; Kay tries to follow his lead, and breathe. "Found your number a while ago - I'm sorry. I just - " another pause, longer. "I just wanted to tell you I like you very much." 

He swallows, seems as though he's going to continue, but then the line goes dead. Kay comes back to herself nearly frozen to the floor; she must have kicked off her socks in her sleep. When she presses replay, wiggling feeling back into her toes, the answering machine tells her the call came in at five AM.

It's eleven o'clock. She doesn't give herself time to think about it, to chicken out, before she hits the button to dial back, not quite knowing what she'll say. The dissonant tones immediately tell her something's off; it's not his home phone. Not the number she knows like the back of her hand, has dialled a thousand times.

It rings once, before a calm voice answers.

"Sibley Memorial Hospital, how can I help you?"

Kay has the breath knocked out of her for the second time running. It takes her a moment to find her voice again, as the woman on the other end politely repeats the greeting. A hospital. There's no way - he must've just been there on a case. She hasn't read the news yet, or she'd know what it was, and she wouldn't have to worry.

" - Hi." It's the trained politician in her that picks up the slack - as it always is. Calm, authoritative, but charming and earnest; she's had years to perfect this voice, throw together a script for every occasion. Charming or not, it's not exactly smart to ask if the cops were there last night. "Hi, I got a call from this number. A message, in fact. Do you have a record for a William van den Broeck?"

"Are you a relation, ma'am?"

"I'm a friend." _Just friends? We are surely friends._ "I haven't heard from him in a while. I'd just like to know if he's been there."

The receptionist doesn't push her further, only asks her to spell the name. Kay tells herself she won't find anything, that she'll thank her nicely and hang up and then make a decision for once in her life and return the gesture, leave Dutch a message on his home phone. Maybe ask him out to see a movie. She could hop on a plane to see him in a couple of days, unless he offers to come see her first. It's time she took the advice of the few friends she's spoken to since moving back, stopped being so cautious and lived a little. Had a Stoli on the rocks.

"Van den Broeck, William," the receptionist reads, and Kay's heart sinks all over again. "He's in ICU, ma'am, I'm sorry. I won't be able to connect you to him, but if you'd like to leave a message I can make sure it gets through."

"Oh," Kay hears herself say, from a distance. "Thank you very much. No, thank you, no message." And then, "Has anyone been to see him?"

"I really couldn't say, ma'am."

"When are visiting hours, please?" Kay says, and in that moment makes a decision. 

Two hours later she's on that plane. 

-

It's easy to find a hotel, even one fairly near Sibley Memorial; it'll be off season for another month or so. Kay finds herself at the ICU nurses' station as the sun is sinking over the horizon, talking her way into looking in on a friend.

It's been a while since she's done anything like this; it's been a long time since she's had to. For the past few years, saying her name has been enough to get her access pretty much anywhere; without the _Representative_ in front of _Kay Spencer Chandler_ , it takes a little more convincing. Dutch doesn't have a spouse, she tells the nurses, no next of kin or partner she knows of, and though they steadfastly refuse to disclose any details about his condition to her, they do eventually let her enter the unit to see him. 

She almost can't make herself look. Almost as if it won't be true if she looks away and doesn't acknowledge where they are, where they've been. She fights the instinct, bites the bullet and fixes her eyes on him; fights the need, immediately, to rush up and hold him close. 

He looks rougher than he did when he got shot three months ago. There are no visible wounds - not above the blanket covering him, above his chest - but he looks drained, exhausted underneath the mask taped to his face. She was expecting the monitors, all the tubes surrounding him; it's the dark circles under his eyes as he sleeps, the tangled, matted spikes of his hair, that strike her. 

She stays until she can't bear to stay any longer. By then, more than one nurse has given her a pointed sidelong glance. When she finally turns to leave, she nearly crashes right into Alcee, who's heading toward her, walking with a definite limp.

"Alcee," she whispers, half a gasp, flinching as her voice shatters the quiet. "I'm so glad to see you."

"You know this woman, sir?" a nurse says, and Alcee nods as Kay takes his arm. 

"Yes," he says firmly. "She's a friend. Ms Chandler - Ms Spencer - I didn't expect to see you here."

"Dutch called me last night." She notices he doesn't look surprised. "Please, Alcee, you have to tell me what's going on."

-

Alcee checks in with the nurses, then walks down with her to the hospital cafe. Kay eats a terrible cucumber sandwich and drinks terrible coffee, and lets him prop his bandaged foot up on a chair and explain what he knows.

"It's pneumonia," he says. "Why, didn't the nurses tell you? - Oh, that must be my fault, I asked them not to say anything, just in case. I didn't expect anyone to get here and ask, but if they did I thought it'd be a perp, not...well, you. This is a surprise, ma'am."

"I'm glad you're here, Alcee." The last time she saw him was in another hospital somewhere right around here, in October, exchanging nods with her, leaving her confident she'd left Dutch in safe hands. They've never talked much, but she knows he's the one who kept Dutch from spiralling sooner than he did; she's sometimes wished she had a friend like him. "I can tell you're pretty much on top of things."

"I don't know all of it," Alcee says, shaking his head, "but I pieced together some. Dutch was on stakeout alone, late shift - I've been out a couple days, 'cause I hurt my leg, so he's been making do. He said he tried to call in sick yesterday, but the captain wouldn't let him."

"Wouldn't _let_ him?"

Alcee nods, the grim expression on his face leaving her in no doubt as to what he thinks of that. "Said it was an opportunity we couldn't afford to lose. Trouble is, he was probably right - Dutch caught the guy. After the guy's garden sprinklers caught _him_ , and I can tell you that didn't help him much."

"Why didn't he call you?"

"He did, a couple hours later, when he couldn't breathe. I'm the one who hauled his dumb ass here from putting the perp in lockup."   
  
"Shit," Kay says, with feeling. It doesn't escape her that Alcee's surprised, but she doesn't excuse herself to him, no matter how much she wants to. "And now he's been in the ICU for over twelve hours."

"He called you while I was signing him in," Alcee says. "Told me I should check his home phone in case you called back. Trust me, I had no idea that was what he wandered off to do - I almost thought he lost his mind and decided to try leaving this place. He wouldn't have gotten far; he barely got back up the hallway."

Kay shudders, tries not to think; thinks too much. "Has he woken up at all?"

"Seems not. They have him on some pretty good drugs, though, so the nurses said not to be surprised. I'll bet he was pretty wiped already, too, he's been sick a day or two."

Two days, Kay thinks, of getting worse and no one sending him home. Or of him staying away from home. He never moved out of the house he lived in with Peyton; she never asked him why. She wonders if Alcee has.

"Was there no one who could back him up?" she says, instead of asking. "No sergeants? No one else on call? Doesn't your department have contingency plans?"

"Not usually, no." It's not something that Kay's ever concerned herself with before, nor has Dutch told her much about his job, but it feels like something she perhaps should have known. "You know Internal Affairs is not exactly widely popular. Sometimes we get the short end of the stick when it comes to staffing."

"That's awful." Thinking about how well Dutch looked the day they parted at the airport, how far up the road to recovery he seemed, and thinking of him now covered in tubes and equipment, is awful. "I'd ask if there's anything I can do, but - "

"Ma'am, just the fact that you're here is more than I could have thought. I'd say what you can do is get some rest - all we both can do until we hear word on his condition is wait."

"Thank you, Alcee." She declines his offer to show her back to her hotel, debates staying after he limps away or going back up to bother the nurses for a while; decides there really is little to do but worry. The odds are that they'll know something by morning. Any other day, four months ago or five, she'd have been waiting for Dutch's shift to end, waiting to pick him up and take him to dinner, or just to curl up on a park bench and have sandwiches and beer. It's almost the time of evening when she'd have picked up the phone to call him.

That's when it strikes her that there is something she can do, after all. 

-

Dutch doesn't _need_ anyone to leap to his defence. She never did, either. She still thinks, perhaps, at a few times in her life, it would have been nice if someone did. 

Cullen was never the type to try to fight her battles for her. She'd appreciated it, but she'd sometimes wondered if he cared at all. Carl and Wendy had sometimes stepped in to chat with contributors when she'd had a rough day; she hasn't spoken to either of them in a month, and isn't sure she wants to. Dutch's social circles never moved much with hers, but he'd lent her support the best way he knew how - by offering her a lifeline, a retreat from the sound and light show until she had to go back and do her job again, first for that magical weekend, then again, evening after evening, night after night.

Dutch's social circles never moved much with hers, but she's only been out of the game at the Capitol for a month, and his professional circles are there for the taking.

She's met Police Chief Jameson all of once. Carl introduced them at a party, one of those events where Cullen and Jessica'd had to make nice and mingle too. She hadn't thought twice about it then, but she thinks now - the trained politician in her taking over - that she knows officials like him, knows where the weak points in the system are. If this were a New Hampshire affair, she'd talk circles around him without breaking a sweat; dealing with DC, she'll have to call in a couple of favours later, make sure that the promises she's about to make will hit where it hurts.

 _I might be losing what it takes to lie_ , she'd said to Carl. Good thing she isn't going to have to lie tonight, at all. She knows this script like the back of her hand, and though she's never been one to stage this play as often as some of her ex-colleagues do, she's still just as good at playing the part.

"Chief Jameson," she says, smiling brightly, sharply, carefully neutral, as the man recognizes her. He's unable to hide the faint look of annoyance on his face, even as he greets her politely - she has no doubt he was close to heading home for the night. "I wonder if I could take a minute of your time, off the record."

He agrees fairly graciously, but doesn't offer her a drink. A courtesy one can only expect as an elected official, she guesses. "What can I do for you, Miss Chandler?"

"Are you aware," Kay says, "that one of your lieutenants is in hospital at the moment?"

She was prepared for more of a fight, but there's a guilty flinch in his eyes that tells her he knew. He spends a moment deciding how to answer, which tells her not only that he knew but that she's hit a vein. If he admits he knows about last night, he admits to knowing that Dutch's captain endangered his life; if he pretends not to know, he risks looking like an ineffective leader, unfit for the responsibility of the position he holds.

"I heard something like that," is what he chooses to say.

"Is it true that said lieutenant requested a backup be sent to replace him due to illness?"

Jameson recovers somewhat, looking less bowled over from the confrontation. "Miss Chandler, I'm curious as to how you feel so confident speaking of details normally discussed behind closed doors, at op debrief." 

Kay softens her tone, still bitingly polite. "My sources are unofficial, Chief Jameson. I'm not sure they'll remain so."

"I don't know what you want me to say." He leans back in his chair across from her, a deceptive ease of manner she can see through instantly. "Details of operations are not disclosed to civilians, I'm sure you understand." 

"I'm not asking you to disclose any classified details, Chief Jameson, not to me." The threat is implicit. "I'm merely asking you if you're aware that Lieutenant van den Broeck was on duty last night, while suffering an illness, after being denied a request to call in sick."

He's sitting up now, all pretence gone. "Miss Chandler, I must ask you to reveal your source."

Kay doesn't break her stride. " _And_ that last night's classified operation landed him in critical care, Chief Jameson, as I noticed you haven't bothered to deny."

"I'm not aware of his condition."

"Well, you seem aware of something, Chief, and I must say you also seem unwilling to discuss it."

She hasn't shown her hand yet; he's trying to guess at what she wants from him. It's almost funny, she thinks, how none of her political opponents have ever managed to guess she just wants the world to be better, one step at a time. "All right, Miss Chandler, since we're off the record."

"Please go on." It looks as though he's chosen to pacify her, make her a co-conspirator. She'll play along for a minute.

"I received a report from Lieutenant van den Broeck's captain this morning," Chief Jameson says. "It commends him for excellent work in apprehending a perpetrator that the Fraud Department had been tracking, along with an officer who was working in collusion with the man. I also received unofficial word that he was working without a partner on the operation, and had complained about the lack of heating in his squad car. This is not noted on the official report, to prevent these aberrations from being listed in his file."

Kay almost bites her tongue, almost plays nice for longer. She doesn't quite make it.

"Really? You sent him out alone in a car with broken heating, while he was already sick, and if he wasn't in hospital right now you'd write him up for voicing those legitimate concerns?" She's close to snapping, reins herself in. "No wonder he's so ill. If you'd seen him, Chief Jameson - yes, that would be how I know."

He recovers quite impressively. She guesses he's not a police chief for nothing. She's been staging plays against actors like him for years, though, and winning. "I'm going to need you to state the purpose of this conversation, Miss Chandler."

 _Get to the point_ , he means, and so Kay does, leaning in towards him. She keeps her tone even, again; strictly polite. Carefully neutral.

"One of your lieutenants is in intensive care at this moment, Chief Jameson, due to the negligence of one of your captains and by extension you. That sounds like an ethics complaint waiting to happen. Potentially, it also sounds like an independent external inquiry."

"Miss Chandler, that's beginning to sound a lot like blackmail."

"Don't fuck with me," Kay says, with something like vindictive pleasure. "That's hardly the only way to let the public know. How'd you like to spend your PR budget for the next three months fighting a popularity contest with the US Marshals? How'd you like to do it with all the MPD's dirty laundry on display? Because I'm sure there's more to find, and sir, I certainly still know who to call to make sure it happens." 

Jameson rises from his seat behind his desk, and Kay follows suit. He's a tall, burly man, towering over her, but she meets his eyes with fire. "What do you want from this department, ma'am? You still need to state a purpose."

"Stop violating working conditions for your officers, to begin with," Kay says. "And with that, I thank you for your time, Chief Jameson. I'm sure you know some of the House Representatives who will be in touch."

-

Kay sleeps heavily the whole night through, on top of the covers with the heat turned high, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans. In the morning, she calls Jessica at school, tells her where she is and why. ( _You remember the sergeant?_ she says, and Jess says _Dutch, sure, what's up,_ and just like that they're on the same page and Kay is deeply, deeply relieved her daughter's still, as always, more grounded than she is.) The rest of the day is interminable waiting.

It's twenty-four hours and some change since she saw him, the sun beginning to set again, before they hear that Dutch is being moved over to a patient room. Alcee goes in to see him first, when he shows signs of waking; Kay shuts herself in a bathroom to pretend she isn't falling apart. 

She has nearly a half-hour to herself to think about what she's going to say, think about the past few months, about the ones ahead. She manages to pull herself together somewhat before Alcee calls her in. He smiles, pats her lightly on the back as he leaves, and she pretends she doesn't see the tears glistening in his eyes. 

"Think he's done coughing up his lungs for now," he says cheerfully. "Don't let him keep that mask off for too long."

Dutch is blinking up at her from the pillow, a dreamy disbelief in his eyes. This close, she can see how hard it still is for him to breathe, the pointed, measured effort of it, the struggle he tried to hide over the phone. Someone's brushed his hair into some semblance of normal; he still looks smaller than life, exhausted. The mask Alcee mentioned hangs on a pole beside him, next to an IV leading to his hand.

"That's a lot less tubes than yesterday, huh," Kay says, feeling the quiet smile on her face.

" 'S really you," Dutch croaks, as though he's surprised, and clears his throat as she sits beside him, stares at their hands as she links them together. "Kay. I'm sorry."

She lifts a finger to her lips. "No. Don't. I'm glad you called."

He shakes his head. "Alcee told me afterward it was a dumb thing to do. But I thought - you know, I really thought I was dying."

"Shut up." It's not what she'd planned on saying, but when has anything in her life gone like she'd planned? "God, shut up. Thank you for calling. I don't know what I'd have done if you'd died and I hadn't known." 

He clutches her hand, weak but sure. "It would've been a pretty stupid way to die. One hour I was fine, the next I was turnin' blue."

She doesn't bother to chide him for downplaying it. Thinks about all the clumsy words and phrases she's considered saying to him, over the past three months, over the past half-hour in the hospital bathroom across the hall. There's not a quiver, not a trace of shake to her voice when she goes off script and says, "I'd have done the same."

He blinks, starts to speak, then lets her go on.

" - I hope I'd have done the same," Kay says. "I hope I'd have had the courage to do the same. I would have been thinking of Jessica, and I would have been thinking of you."

Dutch says, "I didn't think you'd come all the way here."

"It's an hour's flight," Kay says. "There's no such thing as all the way."

Dutch smiles up at her, quiet. "I've missed you, Kay." 

"I've missed you, too."

"Y'know," he pauses to turn away and cough into his shoulder. "If you wanted to never miss me again, I could transfer to New Hampshire."

"Or I could get reelected in two years, and see you a lot in the meantime." 

"You've thought this through." There's a faint hope deep in his eyes that hurts her to look at, gruff and gentle and aching, and she lifts her free hand to stroke his hair.

"Or," she adds, "you could start your security business for paranoid rich people. There's a lot of options."

Dutch smiles, wider this time. "That's a thought. How's Jessica doin'?"

"She's fine." She's tempted to lift his hand and kiss it, settles for cradling it in both of hers instead of just one. Dutch nods, lets his eyes close for a minute, and sighs.

Kay watches him, the sight of him deeply familiar, comforting despite the circumstance. When she lets go of his hand, it's because she's compelled to draw the blankets up to his shoulders, pick up the mask and rest it beside him, just in case. He lets her fuss around him without protest. Any other day he'd be making shopping lists in his head, asking her favourite brand of cream cheese as she ran her fingers through his hair before they fell asleep.

"I never took any of your shirts," she says, her hand at his cheek, a quiet confession. "I feel as though - as though that's a childish thing to say, to want. To wish I had walked away with something of yours that I could keep."

"It's a nice thing to say," Dutch says, blinking up at her before letting his eyes close again; he hasn't stopped smiling. "Something that would make you happy. It's always worth saying."

"You really do have your head on right in ways I don't," she says, and he half-coughs a laugh. "Hey, Dutch. I like you very much, too."

"Who'd have thought it would come to this, huh?" His hand rubs gently at her sleeve, then stays there, resting against her arm. "So, you wanna go for a movie?"

"As soon as you're out of here."

It's a promise. Dutch won't hold her to it, but she's keeping it; she's made a bunch of commitments recently. She has a couple of calls to make to have Chief Jameson held to some of them, but it's going to be a while before she'll tell Dutch about that.

"If I went on the trail again," she says instead, "would you walk it with me?"

"Long as I don't have to get up and give speeches, I'll do whatever you like."

"I don't know, I think you'd do fine debating Harold Cornelius' wife." He smiles, half at the joke, half looking slightly alarmed, and Kay relents, ducks down to kiss his cheek. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding, Dutch. You wouldn't have to say a word."

His hands find her shoulders, his grip feather-light, barely a grip at all. She lets him hold her there, anyway; stays with her face close to his, her forehead almost touching his temple. She thinks about resting a hand on his heart, but with the way he's breathing, decides it's safer not to after all.

"Kay," he says softly, deadpan, but she can see the sparkle in his eyes when he opens them - a little glazed over, but there. "Kay, who's this woman who's wearing your clothes, and is she permanent? How do you know?"

She laughs, nudges his side, and he obediently moves to give her room. As she lies down next to him, arranges herself underneath his shoulder, gently offers him the breathing mask she'd kept waiting, she sees her life for the next few weeks, then the next few years, with a clarity the likes of which she's never known before. She rests her chin against Dutch's head, sees herself here and back home drafting papers and campaigning and making the world just a little better, one step at a time, all with him at her side.

"It's me, Dutch," she says; runs her fingers through his hair. "This time, I know it's me."


End file.
